Myrtle's Revenge
by adaon45
Summary: What did Moaning Myrtle do during the Battle of Hogwarts? Her role may have been small, but she did her part-and managed to settle a personal score while she was at it.


Myrtle's Revenge

_Not mine, but I love to visit._

_You will notice, by the way, that Myrtle thinks up an insult that echoes a line of Harry's to Dudley in chapter 2 of __Sorcerer's Stone__. Not surprising, really—it's the kind of sentiment that naturally comes to mind with bullies._

Let's face it: there's no point moping around a bathroom during a major battle.

Despite her isolation in an otherwise deserted lavoratory, Myrtle knew what was going on. No one could avoid hearing the high, cold voice of the wizard she had once known as Tom Riddle, magically magnified from a vantage point outside the castle and vowing murder if its inhabitants did not hand over Harry Potter. No one could help hearing the panicked rushing through the corridors of evacuating students—or the war cries of other ghosts.

"Tally ho!" the shouts of Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore and his fellows in the Headless Hunt reverberated as they passed her bathroom door. "Don't shoot heads at them until you see the whites of their eyes!"

"Myrtle!" called Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington soon after. He stuck his head through the solid door, where it immediately swivelled from his ruffed neck onto his shoulder. "Come out—the battle's starting! Onward, for Hogwarts and glory!" He pulled his lolling head back through the door and hurried off.

Myrtle wondered what the ghosts could possibly do, as they were unable to lift or move solid objects and thus could not wield wands or other weapons. Were they supposed to scare the Death Eaters senseless? Death Eaters didn't seem the type to scare that easily. Still, people hated it when ghosts touched or sailed through them—they apparently felt icy cold. Perhaps this sensation would distract the enemy sufficiently to give their opponents an edge.

So Myrtle swooped out of the bathroom, moaning loudly and whooshing through the bodies of Death Eaters as they lobbed harmful spells at the castle's defenders. She had the satisfaction of startling several so badly that the curses missed their mark or they were Stunned after losing concentration. It was unusual for Myrtle to feel this powerful, to see eyes widen in horror as they gazed into her pimply, bespectacled face. Really, she thought, I haven't had so much fun since I helped Harry Potter with the second task in the Triwizard Tournament.

Remembering Harry made Myrtle sigh. She had briefly indulged the fantasy of him sharing her bathroom if he was in fact killed byVoldemort. She knew this was unworthy—she was supposed to hope he defeated the dark wizard—but a girl could always dream.

The night wore on, and Myrtle was no longer having much fun. The castle's defenders were sustaining heavy losses, and the castle itself seemed to be falling apart as it was blasted by curses and explosions. Some of the fighters in the hallways looked like ghosts themselves, blanketed in the white dust of disintegrating stone.

And when the darkness outside lightened minutely, the high clear voice rang out through the castle calling off the battle for a space, and demanding that Harry Potter give himself up to avoid further slaughter. Myrtle's desire for a ghostly bathroom-mate was quickly drowned in a flood of rage. How dare that Tom Riddle be such a bully, she thought furiously.

And suddenly she realized there was something she badly wanted to do. True, she wanted it for herself, but she also wanted it for Hogwarts, and Harry Potter, and every student who had ever been the victim of bullies. And, now she came to think of it, she had wanted it for a long, long time. Since her dying day, actually.

So when the high cold voice announced Harry Potter's death, and her rage mounted, and hordes of fighters, both friend and foe, poured confusedly into the castle, she swooped through the halls, waiting for her chance.

And there he was, near the entrance to the Great Hall, skeletal and red-eyed, robed in swirling black, and firing off curses with a sneer lifting the corner of his lipless mouth.

She whooshed toward him at high speed, then right through him. Triumphantly, she felt him start as he was suddenly bathed in icy cold. Then she reversed course and hovered over him, and as he looked up she hissed in his ear.

"Not looking so good these days, Tom, are you? You used to be a handsome boy, though of course even you got pimples once in a while. _I_ remember."

She was gratified to see him snarl. He was still trying to concentrate on hurling curses, but he could not help but hear her, so close was she to his ear, or see her, as she thrust her pale face into his.

"Remember me, Tom? The Muggle-born girl your pet basilisk killed?"

He snarled again, but she saw the tiniest spark of fear in his red eyes, which seemed unable to turn away from hers.

"You may think you're winning, Tom, but I wouldn't bargain on it. Maybe when they're done with you, there'll be something left to haunt a bathroom, but I doubt it. Anyway, what toilet would want you haunting it? It would never have had anything so nasty down it before."

She giggled as she watched him digest the insult, his red eyes furious. Before he could retort, though, she was speeding away, searching for more Death Eaters to startle, glee swelling operatically in her heart.

When you came right down to it, she exulted, this even beat haunting Olive Hornby at her brother's wedding.


End file.
